It Wasn't Me (It Was the Crown)
by tito72
Summary: Presenting Steve and Tony in the Lion King!AU. Featuring Peter as Kiara In which they are not lions, but that doesn't mean they're not part of the Circle of Life.
1. Chapter 1

"You should apologize."

Peter knows he should apologize, okay! He's known that ever since the argument happened two days ago. And if his father's face after the argument hadn't been enough to convince him, these last few days of them not talking would have been. Still, just because his dad's all upset now doesn't mean he isn't wrong. Peter deserves an apology, too, even if he maybe needs to give one out, as well. The point is, his papa doesn't have to stand there looking all disappointed and stuff.

"Maybe Dad's the one who should apologize," Peter says, because it's true.

"I agree," Papa says, and Peter looks up at him, shocked.

"Really?"

"Yes. You were both wrong, so it's fair that you both apologize. But I think you're going to have to make the first move. You're underestimating just how much you hurt your father's feelings."

"I don't know what the big deal is," Peter tells him. He knows he said some really mean things, things about his father maybe not being a good dad, but stuff like that usually doesn't upset his father. Peter's a teenager, so he's supposed to get into fights with his parents and say rude things, right? It's not like he meant it. He doesn't think his dad is a bad parent, not really. He just also doesn't want to have to be the one to apologize for this.

Papa sighs and sits down next to Peter on his bed, puts a hand on his shoulder. Peter tenses, can feel a Talk coming. Papa only gets like this when something serious has happened or when Peter's really screwed up.

"You know your father's dad died when he was your age, don't you?" Papa asks.

"Yeah," Peter agrees, because he knows that. He's seen pictures of Grandpa Howard when they visit Grandma Maria at the mansion, but they were all taken years ago, back when cameras weren't so great. One time, too, the whole family had stopped at the cemetery on Grandpa's birthday and Peter and Papa had waited in the car while Dad went and talked to the headstone. It hadn't looked like a fun conversation on either end, but Peter still doesn't see what that has to do with this argument now. "So?"

"After Howard died, your father left for a while."

"I've heard this story, Papa," Peer interrupts. "Dad left for a while then came back and took over the company again."

"You haven't heard this version of the story," Papa tells him. "You've heard the version where nobody dies."

"Someone dies?" Peter asks incredulously. "You'd better start from the beginning."

Papa nods solemnly. "It all started when your Grandma Sarah came to work at the mansion."


	2. Chapter 2

Steve and Tony grew up together, though not in the traditional sense of the word. Steve's mother worked for Tony's family, one of five maids that kept the place clean and sparkling. Steve was seven that year and home sick from school more often than not. Their apartment was cold and drafty, not a great place for a sick boy, so as often as she could, his mother would bring him to work with her. He hid in the backrooms, at first, the rooms only for the servants, but after a while, that section of the house became very boring. Steve was always a brave child, though maybe not an exceptionally reasonable one. He decided to explore.

The mansion was bigger than any place he'd ever been before, with rooms and rooms that had no use, with no one living in them. There were enough bedrooms to sleep an entire army. There was a library bigger than the one in Steve's elementary school. There was even a ballroom, with a shiny floor which was fun to slide around on in his socks. He had a lot of fun in that room, until his coughing became too bad to slide anymore. Whenever that happened, Steve usually went to the greenhouse, where it was always so warm and sunny. And that was where he first met the boy.

The boy was taller than Steve by a very little bit and had dark hair and eyes. He was sitting between rows of plants, his back to the door, but he turned to look as Steve came in. Steve froze, unsure of what to do. He knew his mother would get in trouble if Steve was caught wandering the house, but he wasn't sure that leaving now would make any difference.

"Hi," he said tentatively, instead.

"Hey," the boy said. He didn't sound mad, so Steve ventured a few more feet into the room. When he got closer, he could see that the boy was holding some sort of little machine with wires of all colors coming out of it in every direction. "Who are you?"

"Steve. Are you Anthony?" Steve had heard the name before, though he'd never met the kid, who was supposedly away at boarding school.

The boy made a face. "Don't call me that. It's a gross name. Call me Tony, okay?"

"Okay," Steve agreed. "Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

"Got kicked out," Tony told him and he somehow sounded both proud and guilty about it. "So now they're having me go somewhere around here."

"Maybe you'll go to my school," Steve said hopefully. Knowing the new kid even before his first day at school would be the very coolest.

"Nah," Tony said, waving a hand. "You probably go to a public school. They're sending me somewhere private."

"Oh," Steve said, disappointed. Then, because he really wanted to know, he asked, "What are you building?"

"This?" Tony asked, holding it up. "It's a robot. Or it will be. Someday. Come see."

Steve took the invitation and sat down beside Tony, who scooted close and held up his project, explaining the different parts of it and why some of them didn't work for now. After that, they started talking about school and what the difference was between public and private. They spent all afternoon there together in the greenhouse, until Tony had to go for dinner. They made plans before he left, though, to meet again the next day.

And that was how Tony and Steve became friends. They did meet again the next day, and the day after that. They stayed friends for eight more years, through fights and brief separations, through Tony getting kicked out of his fancy private school and having to go to one on the other side of the city, through people telling them gross and untrue things about puppy love and them getting married one day. They stayed friends until they were fifteen, until the day Tony died.

The funeral was okay, as far as funerals went, Steve figured. They had separate ones for Tony and his father, even though they both died in the same car accident. They were both very pretty services, the kind only rich people could afford. Steve knew it was stupid, but he couldn't help but think Tony would have hated the whole thing. Tony never liked big events, even if he was good at faking it. At least now, he'd never have to go to another big event, and that was something that made Steve smile a bit through his tears.

Honestly, the person Steve felt worst for, apart from himself, of course, was Maria. The poor lady lost her son and her husband all in one day, and now she was kind of losing her mind. She'd been inconsolable since the day of the accident, when Obi had called her from the morgue. He hadn't let her see the bodies, either, which Steve guessed made sense, since they died in a car accident. Steve didn't think he'd want to see Tony's body, anyway. He wanted to remember Tony full of life, smiling at Steve in the way that Steve had just started to think meant something more than friendship.

Obi must have had the same idea, because he hadn't let Maria or anyone else anywhere near the bodies. He'd handled the whole thing himself, and now he was handling the company, too. Maria was in no state for it, after all, and someone had to make sure the company stayed afloat while everyone got over the shock of losing the CEO and his heir apparent. Obi was a good man, Steve knew, and he would do right by the company.

It wasn't until years later that Steve finally realized how wrong he'd been in that thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve never got over losing his best friend like that, not completely, but he did move on. He threw himself into his art, partly because it had always made Tony smile and partly because it helped him process. He joined art clubs at school and in the community center, made new friends. No one could ever replace Tony, but Steve didn't want to be alone, either. So he drew and he painted. He created, which seemed important, somehow.

He also kept an eye on Stark Industries, at first just for old time's sake, but after a year or so, his motives changed. He started to become concerned, after a while, about the types of weapons SI was producing and who they were going to. It was inexperience, he thought at first, on Obi's part. Obadiah had never been a CEO before and if some of his weapons were starting to fall into the wrong hands, well, the problem would be fixed soon.

The problem never got fixed, though. Steve started reading the news daily and more and more terrorist cells were using Stark weapons. Steve knew he wasn't anyone important, but he was a concerned citizen and also Tony's best friend, so he tried a few times to talk to Obi about the situation. He made appointment after appointment with the man's personal assistant, waited for hours at a time to speak with him. He was always brushed off, though, never got satisfactory answers.

Eventually, with little other choice, Steve went to Maria. Unfortunately, these days Maria was almost always drugged up to the gills on anxiety medication. She was lucid when they met, which was something, but it was like she wasn't taking what Steve wanted her to hear out of their conversation. He came away from the meeting feeling very dissatisfied, but also with a scholarship to any art school he wanted, courtesy of the A.E. Stark Foundation. It wasn't what he wanted, but with no other options left to him, Steve took the scholarship and left town. He went to Boston, and if that decision had maybe a little bit to do with MIT reminding him of Tony, well, Steve guessed maybe he wasn't as over his friend's death as he thought.

The first semester Steve spent at the Art Institute of Boston made him miss Tony more than anything else. Every new experience he had in the city made him so sure that Tony would have loved it there. Steve dreamt of a world where Tony was still alive, where they went off to school together and stayed friends, or maybe became more than friends. They'd hated the idea when they were younger, but looking back, Steve was forced to conclude they were, in fact, in a serious case of puppy love. At least by this point, Steve could think about the happy things without automatically thinking of the sad things, too. He was (almost) over Tony.

Or, that's what he thought, anyway. One day on the train, though, Steve was forced to reevaluate his opinions. It was just, there were three kids about Steve's age sitting across from him, and one of them looked remarkably like Tony. A little taller and a little skinnier and with clothes so beat up they had to be years old. His sweater had a picture of Eeyore on it, which Steve thought was either terribly lame or terribly ironic. One of his friends, a redhead girl, was wearing combat boots and an old Mackintosh that looked two sizes too big. The other, a blonde boy, had on a large pair of battered headphones attached to what appeared to be an old school Walkman. The three of them were huddled together with the dark-haired boy in the middle, all reading the same tattered copy of US Weekly.

These were street kids, Steve knew, from the wrong side of town. Steve didn't know them, had never interacted with them. He knew that. But still, that one in the middle looked so very much like Tony that Steve couldn't help but watch them together.

"Turn back to that page," the girl was saying. "I wasn't done reading about the royal baby, yet."

The one in the middle dutifully flipped the page back, but he didn't look happy about it. "I already finished this page," he complained. "Even Clint's already finished this page, Natasha, and you know he reads about as well as a third grader."

"Hey!" The blonde said indignantly. "I'll have you know I read at a fourth grade level, now. I know the alphabet and everything!"

They were clearly all joking, but it made Steve wistful for friends like that. He had friends, of course, but none he was close enough with to say terribly rude things to as a joke. Not that he would anyway, necessarily. That had always been Tony's area of expertise.

"I was looking at the pictures," the girl, Natasha, explained acidly.

"Yeah," Clint said, elbowing the middle on in the side conspiratorially. "You know Nat can't get enough of baby pictures, Tony."

Steve stared at them, shocked. That was one coincidence too many, really. The dark haired boy, his name just couldn't be Tony.

"Excuse me," he said, before he could stop himself.

The three looked up at him, surprised. Then something strange happened, stranger than even Steve could have predicted. The two kids on either side kept on looking at him strangely, but the one in the middle, the one who looks so much like Tony, paled and dropped his magazine.

"Steve?" he asked slowly. "Oh my God! Steve?"

"Tony?" Steve felt himself getting lightheaded. This wasn't happening. Tony was dead, had been dead for three years, Steve knew that. There was no way Tony could be sitting her right in front of him on a subway in Boston.

"Here," Steve heard through the fog in his brain. "Put your head between your knees, okay?" He did as the voice said, put his head down and concentrated on breathing. He stayed that way for a long, long minute.

When he finally felt calm enough to look back up, Tony was still there, looking as upset and confused as Steve. He also looked nervous, for some reason. "I guess I'd better explain," he said.

"Yeah," Steve managed. He was still confused beyond words, his emotions all tangled together, not sure whether to be angry or happy or just hurt. He still wasn't sure any of this was even real. "I guess you'd better."


	4. Chapter 4

Tony and his friends took Steve back to their place, which really was on the wrong side of town. It was a legitimate apartment, though, where they paid rent and everything, so Steve had been wrong about them being street kids.

"This is where we live," Tony told him, giving him the grand tour while the other two made themselves scarce. It was just a two bedroom place with a small kitchen/living room area and an absolutely tiny bathroom. It had nothing on the mansion, or even Steve's dorm room, but Steve supposed he'd become spoiled from having connections to the Starks.

Steve wanted to say, "It's nice," but what came out instead was, "What are you doing here?"

It was rude and under normal circumstances Steve would cringe and apologize, but he was still in shock from finding out his best friend was alive, so he let it go.

"What are you doing here?" Tony countered, turning the question back on him. "Why aren't you in New York?"

"I'm going to school here," Steve explained, but he couldn't let himself get sidetracked with that. "But you… I can't believe you're here and no one even knew! Wait until everyone finds out you've been here in Boston all this time. They're not going to believe it! And your mother…" He couldn't finish the thought. He wasn't sure how Maria would react to finding out her son was still alive, but reasonably, it wasn't like she could get much worse, right?

"No!" Tony said quickly, loud enough to make Steve stare. "My mother doesn't have to find out. No one does. Steve," here he put a hand on Steve's shoulder and looked right into his eyes. "You can't tell anyone I'm here."

"What?" Steve asked, confused yet again. Nothing had been explained and it didn't look anything was about to be. Well, Steve wasn't going to stand for that. "Tony, everyone thinks you're dead. What's going on here?"

"Dead?" Tony repeated, sounding shocked or maybe upset. Steve was having a hard time reading this new Tony as well as he had the old one. "Really?"

"Yes," Steve told him. "Obadiah told us about the car wreck. He said you and your father had both died, but that no one could see the bodies because it was too gruesome. He didn't even let your mother see them. There was a funeral and everything for you."

Tony thought about this for a minute, looking torn between bewilderment and nervousness. "I guess that makes sense," he said at last. "I never even thought about it, but that makes the most sense."

"Nothing about this makes sense," Steve insisted, starting to get angry. "And you still haven't answered my question about what you're doing here."

"I just live here now," Tony said defensively. "It's not a big deal. No one needs to know I'm not dead. It's fine that way."

Steve stared at him incredulously. "You're not even going to tell your mother that you're still alive?" This wasn't the Tony Steve had known. That Tony had been mean at times, but never cruel, not like this man in front of him. "She's been a wreck since you died. She's drugged up on anxiety meds all the time now."

"She's always been like that," Tony reminded him dismissively. "You know that."

"Not like she is now," Steve told him. "She's been a train wreck ever since Obi told us you were dead."

"Did he tell you anything else?" Tony asked immediately, sounding more nervous than ever.

"What?" Steve asked, thrown for yet another loop. "No. Like what?"

"Nothing," Tony said, casual again. "Never mind."

"Okay," Steve said slowly, willing to go along with that for now. He had more important things to worry about, anyway. "I guess it doesn't matter, anyway. What matters is, you're alive. And that means you're the rightful CEO of Stark Industries."

"What?!" a voice said from the other room, and Clint and Natasha came waltzing into the room from where they'd apparently been eavesdropping the whole time. Clint's practically bouncing, staring accusingly at Tony. "You're the CEO of a major multinational company? Why didn't you tell us? We could have been living at the Ritz this whole time instead of in this dump!"

"I'm not the CEO," Tony insisted at once, backing away slowly. "Maybe I was going to be, but that was a long time ago. Things are different now."

"I can't believe you never told us who you are," Natasha said accusingly, giving Tony a scary, narrow-eyed look.

"I'm still the same guy," Tony said, starting to look freaked out. "Nothing's changed!"

This conversation was not going where Steve wanted it to, and he had a feeling it wouldn't until he and Tony were alone again. "Could you guys give us a minute alone?" he asked. "Really alone?"

"Fine," Clint said sulkily. "I was planning on going out, anyway. Come on, Nat."

They both grabbed their shoes from the pile by the door and left the apartment. Clint slammed the door behind him, but they could hear his "ow!" from the other side of it as Natasha apparently smacked him over the head.

"Clint and Natasha," Tony said fondly. "You learn to love them."

He must have caught sight of Steve's expression then, though, because he stopped smiling. "What?" he asked.

"I thought you were dead," Steve admitted. He felt like crying, but he wouldn't, not here and not now. It was stupid, he knew. There was no reason for it. Tony was alive, and that was the best news he'd ever had, hands down.

"But I'm not," Tony said, and moved forward again to grab Steve's hand. "I'm alive. We're both alive and everything's gonna be okay."

"Yeah," Steve said around the lump in his throat. "I guess."

He still didn't really understand what was going on, why Tony refused to come back to New York and take control of his company.

"Look," Tony said suddenly. "Let me take you out tonight, okay? Let me show you what a great city this is. You're going to school here, right?" Steve nods. "I bet you've never been to the places I could show you, though. Let's go out, just the two of us, like we used to back in New York."

This was the Tony Steve remembered, excited and impulsive, always ready for a new adventure. They had other things to talk about, questions that needed answered, but Steve really missed Tony. "Okay," he agreed. "Where are we going?"

They ended up at a night club, the kind that didn't ask for ID at the door, which Steve disapproved of, but he let it go. He could have forgiven a lot to have his best friend back at his side. Tony showed him the local nightlife, introduced him to Boston's most rowdy clubbers. He taught Steve to dance, too, which wasn't an easy feat and took hours.

Finally, Steve asked, "Can we go somewhere quieter?"

Tony agreed and they ended up walking along the Charles at two in the morning. Tony had taken off his Eeyore sweater to go to the club, and was shivering slightly in the cold night air. Steve offered his jacket and Tony took it, smiled at him. The whole night had been surreal, like being with a ghost, but Steve had loved every minute of it. If this was dream, he never wanted to wake up.

"I really missed you," he said, reaching over and taking Tony's hand.

"Me, too," Tony said, leaning in. "Do you wanna head back to my place?"

"Yeah," Steve breathed. He moved forward just a bit, met Tony halfway.

Their first kiss, the one Steve thought he'd never get the chance to have, was on a river bank in the dark. It couldn't have been more perfect. They kissed until they got too cold from just standing still, then they started back to Tony's apartment, hand in hand.

"Papa," Peter says, sounding panicked. "You're not going to tell me about you guys having sex, right?"

"Of course not," his Papa says, smiling like the thought amuses him. "I'm not your Dad. I was going to tell you we played Parcheesi and let you draw your own conclusions."

"You're evil," Peter says, appalled.

"Do you want to hear the rest of this story or not, bub?" Papa asks.

"Yeah," Peter admits. He's pretty into it by now, to be honest, even if it is some kind of messed up love story about his dads. "Continue."

Papa does.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, when Steve woke up, he found he couldn't ignore his questions any longer. He rolled over to face Tony, who was up already and just staring at the ceiling. After reassuring himself that, yes, Tony was alive and here, Steve sat up.

"I need to know, Tony," he said as seriously as he could manage. He had to understand this, because it still didn't make any sense. "If you've been alive this whole time, why haven't you come back to New York? What are you doing here?"

Tony sighed and rolled over so his back was to Steve. "I just had to get out on my own, live my own life, okay?" he said.

"No," Steve said. "Not okay. You let us all think you were dead! We've needed you in New York. Your company needs you!"

"No one needs me," Tony said, rolling out of bed and searching around on the ground for his clothes.

"We do," Steve insisted. "You're the CEO."

"I am not!" Tony said angrily, straightening up, holding his jeans and t-shirt from yesterday. "We've been over this, Steve. I'm not the goddamn CEO. Obadiah is."

"Obadiah is letting terrorists get hold of Stark weapons," Steve told him, probably less gently than he should have. He was just so frustrated, though, and Tony just wouldn't listen to reason.

"What?" Tony asked, letting his clothes fall back to the floor in shock.

"I don't know if it's on purpose or through incompetence," Steve explained. "But enemies of the United States are using your weapons and if you don't do something, things are just going to get worse. People are dying, Tony, you have to do something."

Tony looked shaken, but he still shook his head. "I can't go back," he said, and picked his clothes up again.

"Why not?"

"You wouldn't understand!" Tony insisted.

"Try me," Steve said.

"I can't," Tony said. He grabbed a towel off the floor, too, and walked over to the bedroom door. "If you're so worried about it, you do something."

"I tried," Steve said helplessly. "I've done everything I can and nothing's worked. No one will listen to me. But they'll listen to you. It's your responsibility to do something, Tony! This is your father's company we're talking about! Your company!"

"Sorry," Tony said, opening the door. "I can't help you."

"What's happened to you?" Steve asked, angry and confused and so desperate to get through to Tony. "You're not the Tony I remember."

"You're right," Tony agreed. "I'm not. Are you satisfied?"

"No," Steve told him sadly. "Just disappointed." And as much as he didn't want to be, he really was.

"Well join the club," Tony said, eyes narrowing. "You sound just like my father!"

"At least one of us does," Steve said, not even caring if he was being cruel now.

Tony rounded on him. "Who do you think you are? You can't just show up and tell me how to run my life! I've got a good thing going here, and anything else is not my problem! If you want to fix the company, go ahead, be my guest, but leave me the fuck out of it."

Then he was gone, out of the room and into the bathroom. Steve listened to the lock click, then sat back down heavily on the bed. "Tony," he said softly. "What happened to you?"

He decided he'd better go after that. He needed time to cool down and think about everything that had happened in just the last twenty-four hours. He still wasn't over the shock of Tony being alive and it was making him more prone to outbursts than he usually would have been. He would need to be calm, if he was going to talk Tony into going back to New York.

So he went home, back to his dorm room, and he went to his classes. He painted a bit, trying to let off some steam, but his painting turned out much angrier than he'd intended. He had to do something about this, he knew. Even if Tony wouldn't fight to save his own company, Steve needed to. First, though, he was going to go see Tony again, give it one more try. It'd be better, easier, if they did it together.

When Steve got back to Tony's apartment, Clint answered the door, looking ruffled and slightly hung over, but also in a mild panic.

"Have you seen Tony?" he asked at once.

Steve blinked. "No," he said slowly. "Isn't he here?"

"His stuff is here," Clint said, letting Steve in. "But he's just gone."

"I found a note," Natasha called from the other room, and Steve and Clint both hurried into Tony's room. His stuff was all there, just like Clint had said. Natasha was by the bed, holding up a note that had been scribbled in sharpy on an old receipt Tony must have found on his floor. It simply said, "Gone back."

"I don't believe it," Steve breathed, suddenly happier than he could remember ever being. This was the Tony he remembered, after all. Tony was alive, he was the man Steve knew he could be, and he had gone back to New York to take control of his company.

"Wait, what?" Clint asked after reading the note. "Where'd he go?"

"To New York, idiot," Natasha said in a long-suffering tone. "He's gone back to his old life."

"Our little baby's leaving the nest?" Clint asked, lip wobbling dramatically. "And he didn't even say goodbye?"

"I'm going back, too," Steve decided. "You guys can come, if you want. Tony's probably going to need all the moral support he can get, if he's going to take his company back."

Clint and Natasha shared a look. "Sure," Clint said. "Why not, right?"

"Good," Steve said, and went to look up the Greyhound schedule. They had a bus to catch.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve was more than shocked to find Tony still at the Greyhound station in New York after he, Clint and Natasha pile off the bus. Tony's bus had to have arrived hours ago, so Steve wasn't sure what he was still doing there, unless he lost his nerve.

"Hey, buddy," Clint said, sidling up to him. "Fancy seeing you here."

Tony looked up from where he'd been contemplating his hands. "Hey guys," he said, not sounding surprised at all to see them. "Glad you could make it."

"I'm glad you changed your mind," Steve said, before anything else could ruin the moment. "What made you do it?"

"Oh," Tony said and laughed a bit. "We got plastered after you left," he explained. "I had an epiphany. This is my company. If I don't fight for it, who will?"

"I will," Steve told him.

"So will I," Natasha added.

Clint didn't say anything for a long moment, then, once Natasha elbowed him, said "Yeah, what they said."

Tony looked pleased. "I've got a plan," he said. "But it's going to be dangerous and also involve Clint in drag."

"Hot damn!" Clint said. "I'm in!"

As it turned out, the annual shareholders meeting for Stark Industries was today. Tony knew it would be the perfect place to reveal he was still alive and get the word out quickly. The legal stuff would probably take months, but the more people that knew about Tony being alive, the better. To get into the meeting, though, they had to get past security. That was where Clint and Natasha came in.

"I'm not sure I can walk in these heels," Clint complained. He looked pretty good in the skimpy dress Tony'd found for him, though Steve had to admit that Natasha looked even better in hers. They were sure to distract security, one way or another.

"Quit whining," Natasha said. "My heels are at least two inches higher and you don't see me complaining."

"You have girl feet," Clint said. "They're made for heels."

"False," Natasha said levelly.

"Quit arguing, both of you and get in there," Tony said, shoving them both forward. Clint stumbled and nearly fell, but with Natasha's help, he straightened up again. They both sashayed into the lobby of Stark Industries. Every single security guard in the room looked over at them as they both took a deep breath and began to sing. It wasn't a very classy number, but "Milkshake" was certainly an effective distraction, especially combined with the way they both started to shake their behinds.

"Now," Tony whispered as the guard blocking the door to the staircase moved forward to put a stop to the show. Steve and Tony both darted forward as quickly and as quietly as they could. Steve breathed a sigh of relief once they were in the stairwell.

"Okay," he said. "The meeting is on the thirteenth floor."

"Oh good," Tony said drearily. "I should have known I was going to have to work for this position."

By the time they reached the right floor, both of them were panting and slightly sweaty. Steve took a moment to admire how Tony looked, here on the edge of what might be a real battle. He looked grown up. He looked like his father.

"Okay," Tony said, pushing open the door marked 'Shareholders Meeting.' "This is it."

Heads turned as they walked in. Tony had changed out of his hipster sweater, but he still didn't look like the type of person who owned shares. Neither of them did, for that matter. Tony just held his head high, though and walked up to the front of the room, ignoring all the stares.

Obadiah was at the podium, giving a speech, but he cut himself off as soon as Tony got close enough to see properly. "What's going on here?" he asked. "Security!"

Maria, who was sitting on the stage next to Obadiah, apparently as an emotional manipulation stunt, since Steve knew she had nothing to do with running the company, stood and gaped at the pair of them. "Steve?" she asked and looked at him curiously. "What are you doing here?"

Steve nodded in Tony's direction and her eyes flickered to him. She sat down suddenly.

"Howard?" she whispered hoarsely.

Tony shook his head. "Tony," he corrected her. "It's me, Tony."

"How?" she asked, her eyes tearing up. She stood again and fumbled her way down the steps on the side of the stage. Tony stepped up to meet her, pulled her into a hug. From where he was standing, Steve could see both of them whispering, but not hear what they were saying. When they pulled back from each other, though, both of them were wiping suspiciously at their eyes.

Of course, that was when security burst through the door.

Tony took quick steps around his mother and climbed onto the stage. Steve went to Maria, guided her to a seat at the side of the room, just in case things got ugly.

"Obadiah," Tony said casually, but Steve could hear something behind his word, something deep and angry.

"Tony," Obi said in his usual silky tone. The microphone echoed his voice the room, which immediately burst into confused whispers. "I'm surprised to see you here…alive." He motioned to the guards, who came up the aisle. One of them went to him for a brief whispered conversation, but the other came straight at Steve, grabbed his arms and pulled them behind his back. Steve thought maybe he could take the guy, but he wasn't willing to mess this up for Tony, so he stayed still for now.

People were standing up in their seats, moving around and the whispering was quickly becoming full-voiced conversations. Tony turned to look at him, eyes wide like he hadn't expected things to turn to chaos so soon. Steve gave him an encouraging nod.

"What are you doing to the company, Obi?" Tony asked, turning back to the man, his voice magnified by the microphone, as well. "How are all these weapons getting into the wrong hands?"

"Now, Tony," Obi said, straightening up from his conference with the guard. "You have to understand how difficult it is to run a company. We're working to fix the problem, but we can't do it overnight."

"You've had years," Tony said, taking a step forward. "You've had three years and things are only getting worse. I'm taking my company back now, Obi, and I'm going to fix the mistakes you've made, I can promise you that."

"I don't think you're in any position to take over a company, Tony," Obi said slowly, slyly. "After all, all your friends are being arrested for trespassing- that was your little show downstairs, wasn't it? Very impressive, very you, I have to say. But let's not forget what I've done for you. You do remember, don't you?"

Tony swallowed hard, but shook his head. "I remember," he said. "But I don't care. I'm taking the company, Obi, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"You're not even legally alive, boy," Obi said through gritted teeth. "You have no standing. And for good reason, after what you did. Do you want everyone to know your little secret?"

"No," Tony said, "I don't." But he reached up to take the microphone off the stand, and stepped forward, looking right at the crowd. "The truth is," he said, like he was forcing it out. "I killed my father."

The crowd exploded with noise and motion. The reporters in the front row started shouting questions at once, asking about how and why and what on earth Tony meant by that. Steve just stared in shock. It could be true, he knew it couldn't. Tony was a good man. He would never do something like that.

"No," Tony said, taking a step back from the noise of the audience. He looked right at Steve, imploringly. "It was an accident," he said into the microphone. "I didn't mean it, it was an accident. We were arguing and then there was the stop light and the brakes, and everything just happened so fast! I didn't mean it!"

"You heard him," Obadiah said, moving to stand behind him and taking the microphone from him. "Let's get more security in here. This calls for a police investigation."

No, Steve thought. There had to be something he could do. The guard behind him had him handcuffed by this point, though, and he wasn't going anywhere. He watched helplessly as two guards surrounded Tony, pulled his hands behind his back and cuffed him, too. Steve wracked his brain, trying to think of something. He looked behind him at Maria, but she looked about two seconds from passing out, so Steve knew he couldn't count on her for support.

"Tony!" Steve called over the noise of the crowd. "Don't let him do this, Tony. I believe you about your father! Don't let him get away with this."

Obadiah must have heard him, because he turned and gave Steve a wicked grin. Then he turned back to Tony and leaned in to whisper to him. He must have forgotten about his audience or at least about the microphone in his hand, because said, just quiet enough that the mic barely picked it up, "You're going to jail, Tony. To prison. And all your friends are, too. But first, here's my little secret, the one you were too stupid to figure out, even with the slashed brake lines: I killed Howard."

Tony head-butted him at the same time the noise of the crowd reached new levels. Obi stumbled back, clutching his nose.

"Ged hib oud of here," Obi said through a bloody nose, but the reporters and shareholders were having none of that, blocking the way of the security guards. Several of them were on their phones, finally taking the initiative to call 9-11. Someone had to have already done that, though, because just as things were looking like they were about to turn into a riot, the police finally arrived. And that's when things got serious.

"Wow," Tony said, hours later, flipping from one news channel to the next. The four of them were back at the mansion, all in various states of shock. Maria was in the next room, sleeping off the handful of valium she'd taken after the riot.

"You're telling me," Clint said. "Too bad no one got me and Natasha doing our little scene, though. That would have made killer bonus footage for everything the reporters got in the meeting."

"Oh don't worry about that," Tony told him. "I'm having the security cameras in the lobby processed as we speak. There's no sound, but the visuals will be well worth the effort."

"Awesome," Clint said and he and Tony high-fived.

"So what happens now?" Natasha asked.

"Well," Tony said slowly. "I mean, I'm still dead, legally speaking, so that'll take a while to get sorted out. I've already been assured that my dad left everything to me in his will, so that's not a problem. We'll probably all have to testify in court about this shit, but apart from that, we're pretty much golden. And once I've got official control of the company, you and Clint can both have jobs no problem."

"And what about me?" Steve asked. He didn't want to think that things would be different now that he had Tony back, but he knew they would be. They were adults now, had to make adult decisions. If Tony couldn't be his friend, after everything that had happened, Steve would find a way to get by, somehow.

"Well," Tony said, with just enough hesitation to make Steve nervous. "I mean, there's always a job waiting for you, too, in the communications department, if you want it."

"Right," Steve said slowly. "A job. Thanks."

"Also," Tony added quickly. "A date, if that's cool."

"I was thinking marriage," Steve told him honestly. "But we can work up to that."


	7. Chapter 7

"So that's it," Papa says at last. "That's the end of the story."

It's not, Peter knows. That's just the end of that section of the story. The real end of the story happened fifteen years later, which was two days ago, when Peter said, "You're a crappy dad," and kinda meant it.

"I should go apologize," he says, after thinking about it for a while.

Papa nods, looking pleased. "I think that's a great idea, Peter. Your father's in the lab right now. Why don't you go see him?"

"Okay," Peter says, and stands. "Thanks for telling me the story. I didn't know any of that."

"Not many people do," Papa says. "Here, I'll walk you to the elevator."

He does, but lets Peter ride down by himself to the lab. Peter uses the time to psych himself up. He hates apologizing, which is something he knows he got from his dad. It's no wonder this fight's lasted so long, with the two of them like they are. Once he gets to the lab, he taps in his code to open the door. The codes still work and the door swings open, which Peter thinks means his dad can't be too mad.

Dad looks up when he enters the room, has JARVIS turn off the music. He says, "Hey, Pete." He's still wearing that wounded, guilty look, though, the one he's had on for days, so Peter knows he's going to have to apologize, after all.

"Can we talk?" he asks tentatively.

"Sure," Dad says, and pats the lab stool next to his, the one Peter usually sits in when they work on projects together.

Peter walks slowly over and sits down. He watches his knees as he starts to speak, because he can't look Dad in the face for this, not with that expression he's still wearing. "Papa told me a story," Peter starts. "About, um, about your dad dying and what happened after that. And I just wanted to say I- I'm sorry about those things I said before. I didn't mean them. I was just mad, is all."

His dad's quiet when Peter finishes for so long that Peter has to look up at his face to see what's going on. His mouth is drawn, like he's thinking about something and his eyes are darker than usual. Finally, he looks right at Peter and says, "The last thing I ever told my father was that I hated him."

"Did you mean it?" Peter asks before he can stop himself. He knows it's none of his business, but he got his curiosity from his dad, too.

"Yes," Dad says immediately. "I meant it when I said it. He was so overprotective and never let me do anything fun, which might have been worth it if he actually ever spent any time with me. He was a busy man, you know, but I always felt like he ignored me."

"You don't ignore me," Peter says, because his dad should know. "And I don't hate you."

"I'm glad to hear it," Dad says and he smiles. "And I feel like in the light of this argument we can make some sort of compromise. You know I don't approve of this Wade kid, and I've got good reason, Pete. He's shady and he's got a criminal record. So I don't want you going out with him just yet. But how about you invite him over here for Family Night so your Papa and I can meet him. If he seems okay, we'll see about letting you out with him next week."

"Yeah?" Peter asks, hardly daring to believe it. He'd about given up hope of ever getting to go out with Wade after his Dad caught him trying to sneak out to see him the other day and they got into this big fight.

"Sure," his dad says, and pats him on the shoulder. "Want to help me with this design while you're down here?"

"Yeah," Peter agrees at once. "I love you, Dad."

Dad turns his face away, but Peter can still see his pleased smile. "Love you, too, Pete."


End file.
